Where We Can Rest Our Bones
by Lokaal
Summary: After losing everyone, after being through as much as he has been, Connor has holes in his life, spaces that are empty. That is until he saves a charismatic traveler by the name of Marcus Holmes, and suddenly there is someone he cannot get out of his head. This is the six-part love story of Ratonhnhaké:ton, because he deserves to be happy at last.
1. Chance Meeting

There was a simple pleasure in watching deer graze. When they were unaware of him, they were very peaceful animals. Connor sat on a hunting platform above them, leaning against the tree's trunk and dozed in the dappled light from the leaves. His intention for the morning had been to hunt, but it seemed a shame when he did not specifically need pelts at that moment. Instead he had settled and had not moved since, trying to keep his mind clear of the clutter which plagued him. In the months since everything had finished, since everything was over, he often caught himself wondering how things could have been different, how many deaths could have been avoided. The Templars were corrupt, but there was no possible way to forget how it feels to be the death of so many.

The woodlands did not provide as much peace as it seemed. A scream rang out, shrill and sudden. It cut the serenity of the woods and every animal paused. The deer below snapped their heads up and stared toward the sound, their ears perked upright in alarm. When they bolted, Connor shot to his feet also. Years of practice meant he need not even think through leaping from the platform. He landed on a nearby branch, letting his knees bend to take the force of the impact. The branch shuddered beneath his sudden weight but soon he was gone from it, moving on to the next branch then the next.

He cleared much of the woods before he could gather his wits about what was happening below. There were three grey wolves and an ill-fortuned traveler splattered with blood. It took him barely a moment to absorb the scene and act accordingly. The nearest wolf Connor landed on feet first. As he drove the creature into the ground, he activated his hidden blade and plunged the steel into the wolf's neck. The agonized and confused cry of the wolf alerted its pack mates and now two pairs of eyes challenged Connor. Better they be focused on him and not the traveler. The closest wolf lunged and Connor reacted immediately. He stepped to the side at the last minute and grasped the wolf's fur as it passed. Using the canine's momentum he drove it to the ground as his hidden blade was buried in its neck, severing the spinal cord. The last wolf came at him before he had a chance to even straighten himself. Its fangs were unable to penetrate the wrist brace of the hidden blades and Connor used it to protect himself. He was quicker than the enraged animal and pulled out his tomahawk, burying it in the wolf's belly and feeling warm blood rush over his arm. He immediately pushed the wolf over and used his hidden blade to put it out of its misery, not wanting it to suffer any longer than was necessary.

Sheathing his tomahawk, he stepped away from the carnage to where the traveler was. Sitting on the ground and shaking like a leaf, the man could not take his eyes from the wolves. Crouching in front of him, Connor gently took the man's left forearm and inspected it. The puncture wounds from a wolf's maw were clear and blood flowed freely. It did not pulse, however, which meant that none of the really major arteries had been pierced. Connor reached beneath his own vest to tear a strip from his undershirt and wound the fabric around the wound, binding it tight enough to stem the blood for now.

"Stepped on American soil not even a day ago," the traveler mumbled and Connor was unsure whether he was English or Irish until he decided on the former when he spoke again. "Already attacked by wolves."

"Your arm must be seen to," Connor told him, and when the traveler's eyes still did not move from the wolves, Connor waved his hand in front of his face. "Did you hear me?"

The traveler looked at Connor, then down to the bandage which was seeping with red and all colour drained from his face. "I don't know how to do that."

"I do," Connor stood and gripped the traveler's shoulders to pull him up. "Come."

The traveler wobbled a bit as he rose to his feet, but as Connor guided him away from the sight of the wolves he seemed to regain some strength. He was taller than Connor, but was thinner and lankier which meant he was easy to support when his strength gave way again. By this time they were close to the manor and it was not much effort on Connor's part to get him inside. There the traveler was taken into the dining room and sat down, then Connor gestured for him to stay where he was. Connor gathered what he needed then took a seat beside the man. Holding the injured arm over a shallow, wide rimmed basin of water, Connor unwrapped the wound, removing all fabric from it, and used a clean cloth to wash it. The traveler winced the entire time, watching Connor with morbid curiosity. He flexed his fingers, checking one by one that they were able to move. "I suppose it could have been worse," he said in a small voice, half trying to begin a conversation.

"You could have been attacked immediately when you came here," Connor added.

The traveler smiled and looked down as he did so. Done with the water, Connor took the nearby bottle of whisky. He poured a little into the wound to clean it and held fast to the traveler's arm as he tried to pull away. "You could have warned me," he complained weakly.

"Better to get it over and done with."

As Connor dressed the injury with clean bandages, the traveler considered him more intently than before. "What's your name?"

"Ratonhnhaké:ton."

The traveler opened his mouth, closed it again then spoke after a moment, "Forgive me in advance if I get that wrong."

"Call me Connor, then."

"That, I can do. My name's Marcus Holmes. Thank you for saving me," he grinned, bright and broad, as Connor finally released his arm. "And for doing this."

"Where were you doing?" Connor leaned back in the chair.

"To a tavern," at Connor's raised eyebrows, Marcus laughed, "That sounds terrible. I'm to be employed there, but I seem to have gotten the wrong port and ended up here."

"I will lend you a horse to get there. You may bring it back soon," Connor pushed himself up. He did not look back to see whether Marcus followed him or not, simply continuing on out of the manor and toward the stables. He proceeded to saddle and bridle the first horse in the stables, a gentle paint mare, only looking back at Marcus when he was finished. Marcus stood sheepishly with his lips pursed, eying the horse warily.

"You cannot ride," Connor stated, an observation instead of a question.

"I haven't in a very long time. But he looks calm, I should be fine."

" _She_ is calm."

Marcus approached uncertainly, all while keeping a pleasant smile on his full lips. Tenderly, he reached out and touched the mare's neck, then moved his hand to the saddle horn. With the other hand on the cantle, he lifted his foot into the stirrup. "Wrong foot," Connor told him swiftly.

After quickly changing which foot he placed in the stirrup, Marcus paused and looked toward Connor. He then began to laugh, grey-green eyes lighting up with joy. "At least I got this far pretending to know what I was doing."

Connor couldn't help but smile. "Let me help you." Hands on Marcus' waist, Connor all but pushed him up into the saddle.

"At long last!" Marcus exclaimed upon seeing Connor's face once he sat high in the saddle. "He gives me a smile."

Taking the reins, Connor places them correctly in Marcus' hands. Marcus lets him, gaze not wandering from Connor's face. "For a while there, I thought you incapable of smiling."

"Can you find your way to your tavern?"

"I'm sure I'll be able to. If I get attacked again, I'll be sure to scream and my savior will come running."

Awkwardly, Marcus shifted in the saddle. Then he urged the mare forward, face full of momentary doubt. Connor had ridden her frequently and knew she was unlikely to throw him, and very likely to stick to the dirt roads and pathways. As she began forward, relief swept over Marcus and he gave Connor a short wave and a wink as he rode from the manor and down to the road. Connor found himself watching him go, wondering whether or not he would see the traveler again. Shaking his head, Connor returned to the empty manor, feeling small and suddenly very alone within its tall walls.

* * *

It was five days later when the mare was returned. Connor was sitting in the study, enjoying the last of the day's sunlight. He could see the brightness through his closed eyelids and could feel the warmth seeping through his clothes. He heard the faint sound of hooves hitting compact dirt, which roused him from his peace. The windows overlooked the stables and Connor could see the dark haired Marcus leading the paint mare back to her stall. Leaning against the window, Connor watched him for a time. Marcus unsaddled the mare and, with a lot of uncertainly, did what he could to make her comfortable. Then from a saddlebag he pulled out bottle of something and made his way toward the manor. Initially Connor had been skeptical whether or not Marcus would actually seek him out.

Making his way down the staircase and to the front door, Connor opened it immediately. Marcus stood with his first up, ready to knock, looking shocked that it had been opened before he could make a sound. Putting down his arm, he smiled and held up an unopened bottle of brandy. "I come bearing a gift."

Connor stepped aside and Marcus entered the manor. It was not often that he had visitors; anyone who came to this door was usually a homestead inhabitant and never had they come with a bottle of brandy. Connor looked Marcus over while they went into the dining room and Marcus set the bottle down, then went to look through the cabinets to find glasses. He was wearing the same boots, tattered and old, and the same tan breeches as he had been five days ago. The shirt was different, a given since one sleeve had been ruined, but the vest and russet over jacket was the same. "How did you get the brandy?"

"You certainly aren't dull. I didn't steal it, if that's what you're thinking. The owner of the tavern took the money out of my first pay, but it's a small price to pay compared to you saving my life." Marcus had found the glasses and sat down to open the bottle and pour the caramel coloured liquid. Connor was still lingering in the doorway and this fact did not go unnoticed. Putting down the bottle, Marcus fixed his gaze on Connor. "Come sit," he gestured to the chair opposite him, and when Connor did not move, his hands went to the chair beside him, "Or here, if you'd prefer."

Connor was not sure what passed between them at that moment, but he knew Marcus was trying to gage something. Going to the chair beside Marcus, Connor doubted he had ever seen anyone look so pleased. When Connor was seated, Marcus slid a glass to him then held up his own glass. "To you," he announced. "For being the savior of my pathetic ass."

When Connor did not move his glass, Marcus clinked their glasses together then took a sip. Since Connor had, once, had brandy before, he was prepared. It was not the most pleasant thing but he still drank. "I wish you would stop calling me 'savior'."

"You quite literally leapt from a tree and killed three wolves. I've never seen anything so incredible."

"You have no idea."

"Is it a habit of yours to jump from tall objects and kill things?" Marcus laughed, and when Connor did not reply, he shook his head. "You make me look more useless than I really am."

"I would not say anyone is useless."

"No, you're right. I am useful, but in very different ways," Marcus studied his reaction over the rim of the glass as he drank. Connor frowned, not yet understanding what he meant. It would not take him long to understand though.

"How do you intend on getting back to your tavern?" Connor asked.

"To walk, even if it's a long way."

"It is nearly night."

"Are you offering me a bed?"

"If it will stop you from getting yourself hurt," Connor added quietly after a moment. "Again."

"I'll take it then. Do you live here all alone?"

"Now, yes." Usually he would not feel the need to fill a silence, but this once he did. "My mentor passed away not long ago."

Marcus put his hand on Connor's arm and gave it a squeeze. "I'm sorry, truly."

Wanting to talk about anything else, Connor motioned toward Marcus' own, wounded arm. "Has the bandage been changed at all?"

"Once, a few days ago."

Connor was already standing as Marcus spoke. He fetched fresh bandages and felt more comfortable tending to Marcus' wound than he did talking. It was not that he felt ill at ease around Marcus, quite the opposite in fact; he was becoming almost too comfortable and it created a small gnawing of worry in the back of his mind.

"You know," Marcus smiled, biting his lower lip as he paused. "If you're so concerned that I'll get myself hurt _again,_ you could always teach me how to look after myself."

"Teach you what, exactly?"

"Anything you see fit to teach me. I am a blank canvas when it comes to everything of the sort."

"If I agree, when would this teaching be?"

Marcus thought for a moment. "A week today. Tuesdays aren't busy for the tavern, which is why I was able to come today."

Completely finished with Marcus' arm, Connor leaned back in his chair. Marcus was eying him expectantly, wearing the expression of a man who knew he would not be refused. Connor vaguely registered that he wanted nothing more than for Marcus to return to the manor. "Fine, Tuesday it is."

If Connor thought Marcus had been pleased before, that was nothing compared to the satisfied grin he gave him now.

They talked for a while, mostly about what possible things Connor could show Marcus. Eventually the night deepened and Marcus was guided up to Connor's room. Leaving Marcus in there, Connor went down to Achilles' unused bedchamber. It was a chilly room without the hearth and since Achilles' departure a layer of dust had spread itself over the old man's possessions. Connor briefly considered how bad his decision was to let Marcus sleep in his chamber before lying down on Achilles' bed. It would have irked him more to have let someone else, someone he barely knew, into Achilles' chambers.

He spent a very cold night sleeping on top of the covers and blankets, not wanting to get beneath them. He struggled to sleep, thinking mostly of Achilles and the empty manor. When morning eventually rolled around, Connor pushed himself up out of the bed as soon as he could. Soundlessly, he made his way up the staircase and through into his chambers.

Marcus did not hear the door open with how quietly Connor walked in. All Connor wished to do was get fresh clothes to dress himself in, and instead he just stood there staring at his bed. Marcus had his face buried in Connor's pillow, his good arm flung over it also. Connor had the pressing urge to go to the bed but resisted it with logic. Why would he do that? When Marcus stirred slightly in his slumber, Connor quickly walked over to his draws of clothing. He heard Marcus give a sleepy groan, and when he turned around to leave, Marcus was peering at him with muddled, half-lidded eyes. Connor left him like that, his chest feeling tight.

It wasn't until some time after Connor dressed and readied food that Marcus made an appearance. He was still bleary eyed and his hair was tousled, but that did not stop his usual grin appearing often when they breakfasted together. After breakfast, Connor walked Marcus to the manor's front door. "You could borrow the mare again," Connor suggested, leaning against the doorway.

"Is that just _another_ excuse to get me to come back here?" Marcus cocked his chin at him. "I would accept but housing her was a little difficult. I will manage with walking, but thank you for being so concerned for my well-being."

Connor sighed, once again unable to stop himself from smiling.

"There it is," Marcus began walking away, looking back and calling out over his shoulder. "I hope to see that handsome smile again on Tuesday!"

Closing the door, Connor rest his forehead against the cool wood, still smiling.

* * *

 **I have never actually read any Connor fan fiction, so this is coming straight from my version of him.**

 **Little side note: I was 100% imaging "kawaii" popping up above Connor's head upon seeing Marcus in his bed like that, but of course that can't do in the story so.**


	2. Every Tuesday

The week which Marcus had to wait until he returned to the manor could not have gone slower. Every evening he would tend the bar at the tavern, and every night he would go to his bed and wish for the days to go faster. When Tuesday finally rolled around, Marcus prepared everything he needed to. From the tavern's owner he borrowed a horse, allowing him to get to the manor in less than half the time it would take otherwise.

The night before he left was a long one. He knew why he found it so difficult to sleep and knew why he was so excited. Marcus made small attempts to quell his excitement for fear that Connor would, perhaps, not reciprocate the feelings. He reminded himself, as an excuse really, that Connor had done nothing to discourage anything Marcus said or did. He always kept in the back of his mind, however, that the line he was walking was a thin one.

He rose at dawn, unable to hold himself back any longer. He crept down the staircases as quietly as he could, the chambers he resided in on the top floor of the tavern. Every time a plank of wood creaked beneath his weight he winced, but was able to leave the building without anyone emerging from their rooms and demanding to know what he was doing. How could he explain his undying need to visit a man he scarcely knew? Saddling the owner's mouse dun gelding, Marcus set off from the tavern and down a compact dirt road leading away from the small settlement nestled in the woodlands. If he had to spend one more night in that tavern, he may have gone mad.

He encountered few difficulties on the road and made good time, despite the gelding's head tosses and angry snorts. The manor came into view just before midday like a breath of fresh air and Marcus was smiling before he even reached it.

Sitting on a boulder just above the road was Connor. In his hands was a knife and a chunk of wood no larger than his fisted hand. Elbows on his knees, he picked and whittled away at the wood. He watched Marcus as he dismounted, nearly landing on his backside, and then the gelding as it stamped away, nostrils flared. Sheathing his knife calmly, Connor approached. Without so much as a word of greeting, he gave Marcus the wood to hold and went to the horse, arm outstretched and staying within its line of sight. Trusting him, the gelding was more tolerant of him than it was of Marcus. Connor placed his hand on the gelding's muzzle, gave its neck a small rub, then moved his hands down to the saddle. There he checked the buckles, and upon finding something on the gelding's belly, sent a rebuking glare Marcus' way. "This buckle is twisted," Connor told him firmly. "You have been causing him great pain."

"I suppose it could just be another thing for you to teach me," Marcus suggested, feeling like a fool but trying not to show it. Connor expertly removed the saddle, carrying it with him as he guided the horse toward the stables. He took the animal into one of the empty stalls and removed the bridle as well. With grain and water, the gelding was far happier than it had been and Connor returned to where Marcus waited.

"Whose horse is it?"

"My employer's," Marcus gave him back the piece of wood. "What are you carving?"

Connor walked passed him without replying. He began back toward the manor, gesturing behind for Marcus to stay where he was. It took him less than a few moments to return but Marcus was not entirely pleased nevertheless. Now lacking the chunk of wood, Connor for waved Marcus to follow him.

"I set up a small area to train in," Connor told him. "There are targets marked to shoot and equipment already there."

"Since you've thought in advance," Marcus nudged him with his elbow, any annoyance he previously felt dissipating. "You must've been thinking about me. Have those thoughts been keeping you up at night?" Marcus wouldn't mention what his own thoughts have been doing.

Connor glanced at him, suppressing his amusement, then led Marcus over the road and through the trees. They came to a secluded place, a clearing nestled between rocks and trees. On the far side a tree was marked with red and white, and nearer where they stood a table had been brought out from somewhere and now held a bow, arrows and an assortment of other things like knives and a pistol. "You really don't do things by halves, do you?"

Connor merely shook his head and went to the table. That was when the training began. Marcus was asked what he wanted to try first, and he reluctantly chose the knives. His decision was based around the fact that, some of the time, he carried around a small knife attached to his belt. It was more for opening things than for the intended violent purpose, but it was there nevertheless. Marcus was slightly horrified when Connor showed him where exactly to strike a man, not just agitated animals, and how to disable someone. Being able to get rid of the attacker's weapons would be more useful than Marcus attempting to stab someone, they mutually decided. When they were sparing and Connor was, unsuccessfully, teaching Marcus how to block an incoming weapon, Marcus shamelessly got himself knocked to the ground more than once. The bruises he would have the next morning were worth clasping hands with Connor and being pulled to his feet, briefly coming near chest to chest with him.

Marcus was ready to applaud Connor's patience by the end of that. Eventually Connor did encourage them moving on from the use of knives. "You are more likely to have use of a pistol in a time of danger," Connor told him, taking the bow and arrows from the table. "But aiming with one means you can aim with the other."

If focusing on what was being taught to him with the knives was difficult, this next task was nearly impossible. Connor's hands directed his, placing them correctly. First off, once he could hold the bow properly, Marcus had to shoot without any further instructions so Connor knew what to improve. Needless to say Marcus missed the target by a longshot. If Connor was not such a patient man, he would have done more than just sigh quietly. Connor used his feet to reposition Marcus' and made Marcus hold up the bow, then he leaned in to look down his line of sight. Marcus did not hear a word he said when he mumbled, unable to focus on anything but Connor's warm breath against his cheek and his scent. It was the same musk he had spent an entire night with when he stayed a week ago. Connor told him to nock an arrow, and told him again when he did not listen the first time. When Marcus had the arrow ready and the string drawn back, Connor stood opposite him and tried to show him how to look down the line of sight. Marcus' gaze was wondering the curve of Connor's neck and the shape of his strong jaw instead of paying any attention.

"Eyes on the target, not on me," Connor advised him, not even looking away from the target himself. Marcus felt as though he had never been so embarrassed. After he loosed the arrow and it did not hit its mark, Connor made him shoot the remaining five. Three hit the tree but only one struck anywhere on the actual painted target.

Connor returned to the table, standing over it silently. After a few moments Marcus followed him, setting the bow down and lingering awkwardly. He chewed on his bottom lip, deciding what to do. There were only two possible outcomes for what would happen next. Marcus knew this, he had been through this before. Slowly, dragging his fingertips across the tabletop, Marcus stepped up to Connor until they were barely inches apart. Connor's focus was on Marcus, evidently wondering what the other man was planning to do.

"The last thing I wish to do is to offend you," Marcus told him plainly, meaning every part of it. Then he softly placed his hands on either side of Connor's face and lowered his lips to Connor's. The other man's lips were warm and would have been inviting if Connor had not frozen in place, seemingly unable to move. Ever so slightly Marcus felt Connor pull back and took it as a disappointing sign. Breaking the kiss, Marcus could not help but feel immediate regret in the pit of his belly. But as he lowered his hands, Connor caught his wrists. He brought the two of them back into that kiss and moved one of his hands to the back of Marcus' neck.

When they parted again, Marcus was laughing a moment later, even though it sounded more like a giggle. At first Connor's unfocused brown eyes were on Marcus' lips then they moved to meet his gaze. "For a moment there," Marcus murmured. "I thought you didn't want that."

"It was… a surprise."

Marcus laughed, hard enough for tears to come to his eyes. "Honestly? You didn't pick up on anything?"

Connor scowled, biting his lip. His cheeks were ever so slightly pink and his breathing was heavier than usual.

"All of the cues and hints?" Marcus ran his two hands down his face, still laughing. "This this isn't your sort of thing, is it?"

"I have never kissed anyone before."

Marcus paused, genuinely shocked. "Not once? That means you haven't ever…?"

"Ever what?"

"Had sex, Connor. Sex."

He just shook his head. "Up until this point my life has been, well, busy."

"Too busy for sex. You're a braver man than most." A lop-sided grin spread over Marcus' mouth again and he leaned forward. "Would you like another kiss?"

Connor closed the gap between them before even a second more passed. They were lucky that the training location Connor had chosen was secluded or there someone would have stumbled upon them. It was a little awkward between them at first, with Connor clearly unsure about what he was doing, but as Connor gained more confidence there was less fumbling.

They did eventually make their way back to the house without having resumed training. Marcus lingered while Connor put away the assortment of items he had taken out to train with. Although they had done nothing more than kiss, Marcus wanted that again and sensed that Connor knew this.

Marcus helped where he could as they organized a meal for the two of them. Someone by the name of Prudence left fresh bread in the kitchen for Connor and that with sweet butter, venison they cooked and root vegetables, they had a meal for themselves. When they sat to eat, Marcus decided to broach the subject of sleeping arrangements. "Will you insist that I stay the night again to avoid getting myself hurt?"

"You can stay if that is what you wish," Connor said neutrally.

"And may I stay in your bed if _I'd wish_?"

"Of course."

"With you?" Marcus could see where this was going.

"That would depend."

"On what?"

Connor shrugged casually.

"Ah. Now you're aware that you're doing this to me."

A smile spread across Connor's lips as he paused and held Marcus' gaze, then he continued eating as though nothing happened.

That banter was the normal throughout the evening. By that time, Marcus was both tired and pleased with himself. He knew very little about Connor as of yet but he did know that he wanted more time around this man. He was _craving_ attention from him. When it came for them to retire for the night, Connor snuffed the candles behind Marcus as they made their way up stairs, making him very hopeful that Connor would be staying with him.

As Connor closed the door behind them, Marcus had completely lost the ability to not grin. He was trying to strip his layers when Connor was and being very distracted. Nevertheless he registered Connor's cue and both of them kept their breeches on. Sitting on the bed, not yet beneath the covers, Marcus waited for Connor to join him. Immediately when he did Marcus moved to kiss him, and there was something suddenly more reserved about Connor's actions.

They parted and Connor mumbled, "I would rather we sleep tonight."

"I thought so, that's fine by me," Marcus pressed another kiss, a lingering one, against Connor's temple. After everything that had happened on that day, there was no way for Marcus to be disappointed at the outcome. The entire night he and Connor shared their warmth and in the early morning, Marcus felt Connor's arm creep over him and pull him close.

* * *

Marcus came back to the manor the following Tuesday and the one after. The purpose of these meetings were to continue with the lessons Connor was giving him, but most of the time the two became sidetrack and it always ended in kisses. The fourth Tuesday began with Connor's steel determination to improve Marcus' ability to care for horses. Marcus proved that there was something aside from serving drinks in a tavern he could do moderately well. He had begun borrowing Connor's mare again instead of his employer's horse. The previous week his employer had expressed his dislike of Marcus leaving every Tuesday and refused to lend him the gelding. Marcus ended up walking to the manor and went back the next day using Connor's mare. The tavern owner did not dismiss him, but still grumbled in displeasure when the next Tuesday came around.

After taking care of all of the other horses, the last to receive attention was the palomino gelding Connor frequently used. It clearly liked Marcus more than the mare he borrowed and while Connor brushed the palomino's flanks down, Marcus cut up the last of the apples to give the gelding as a treat.

"Should I really be calling you Connor?" Marcus asked suddenly.

"What do you mean?"

"I know it's your name, but at the same time it's not. So how do you say...?"

"Ratonhnhaké:ton."

Marcus tried to say it and was shot an amused glance by Connor. After a few more practices, Connor was nodding. "Not so bad for an Englishman, after all."

The palomino greedily snapped up the last slice of apple and Marcus gave him an affectionate scratch on the muzzle before stepping aside to where Connor was. "I have to admit, I'm a little fond of this one," Marcus confessed quietly. "So, Ratonhnhaké:ton, what do you think of my horse skills?"

"They are not terrible."

"' _Not terrible'_?"

Connor turned away to return the horse brush to where it hung up in another part of the stables. There was a single stall full of the items used for tending to the horses and Marcus followed him in there, arms crossed over his chest. "Your skills need some work, but only a small amount." Connor paused and watched him for a moment, then gestured for Marcus to go to him. "Come here."

Marcus complied after a second of hesitation. When he stood before him, Connor unfolded Marcus' arms and guided him to stand against the back of the stall. They were just behind a cabinet and anyone passing the stables by would see nothing. Marcus was grinning now, knowing where this headed. They were belly to belly and Connor kissed him, then let his lips trail down Marcus' neck. Connor was rapidly losing himself and Marcus laughed and moved his hand to the back of Connor's neck as Connor's hips bucked against his.

Yet when someone called out Connor's name, they both froze. Connor raised his head, his breathing hot and heavy against Marcus' skin. He pressed a kiss against Marcus' jaw then as the woman's voice rang out again he pulled away. "Stay there," he instructed in a low voice. Marcus, although not pleased at being ordered to do something, waited where he was. He heard only the din of conversation instead of actual words. He did hear, a few minutes after Connor left, approaching footsteps. Marcus peered around the corner and saw Connor, a saddle slung over his arm, striding back into the stall.

"Who was that?" Marcus asked, looking around before leaving the secluded spot.

"Myriam. She borrowed this a few days ago," he put the saddle where the other spares were kept. "She wanted to ask me about helping her collect animal skins and furs."

"What did you say? Will you be leaving me for the rest of the afternoon?"

"I only see you once a week."

"That means you said no. I can't say I'm disappointed." He was more relieved than anything. Their day continued on as normal, without the resuming of where they left off before being interrupted. It was not until evening that anything was done about little misfortune.

Marcus was undressing, readying himself for sleep. They still had the unspoken rule of keeping trousers on when they slept. He yawned as he turned around, running his hand through his hair. He paused when he saw Connor, taking a moment to register the sight. In the light of the candles, Connor wore nothing; he stood by the bed and pulled back the covers. "We're doing that now, are we?" Marcus tried to keep his voice steady.

Connor looked up at him, and tried not to smirk. Then he wandered around the side of the bed, taking his time, and went to stand just inches away from Marcus. "We are if you would like to," Connor told him, voice low and soft.

"Oh," Marcus rose up against him as Connor's hands unlaced the front of his breeches. "I don't think you'll hear complaining from me."

It was Marcus who took the lead from there. From the beginning, Marcus kept half his mind on the fact that Connor had never done anything of the sort before now. It was he who guided Connor back to the bed, and down onto his back. Connor watched his every movement with unfocused curiosity, especially as Marcus settled his hips between Connor's legs. Constantly, Connor wanted his lips locked with Marcus' and had his hand in Marcus' hair. Marcus found the most fun in whispering, "Ratonhnhaké:ton," against Connor's skin, on his chest and against his neck, making him bite his lip and squirm underneath him.

* * *

 **This got appropriately dubbed the "puppy love" chapter.**


	3. Winter Comes and Goes

Connor first became aware of the rain, the heavy drumming of the wind making the rain crash into the manor's roof. Then he was aware of the warm body resting beside him. As he woke more, Connor reached over and gently touched his fingers to Marcus' arm, wondering if he was awake as well. Marcus rolled over as soon as he felt the touch, then pressed his mouth to Connor's shoulder. "You're finally awake." Marcus wriggled closer to him, and through the dim light Connor saw his lover's infectious smile. Softly, Marcus kissed Connor then moved to mumble in his ear, "Would you like me to kiss your neck, Ratonhnhaké:ton?"

He said yes before he could even think. The way Marcus said his name made him weak and made his lower belly hot with lust. That was not helped by Marcus' lips on his neck and his hand traveling Connor's chest. Then that hand went down to his belly and lower still. It was not long before Marcus was sitting on Connor's hips and the two of them were moving in unison. If they had been any louder they could have drowned out the sound of the rain.

Once all was finished both of them were left breathless and hot. Marcus lay back down beside Connor, panting. Connor could feel his heart pounding in his chest and he took Marcus' hand to kiss the back of it. It had been a month since they first began having sex and it was still remarkable. Every time he was understanding more and more why Marcus had been as shocked as he was that Connor had not bedded anyone before then. "I wish you did not have to leave," he spoke honestly and suddenly.

"As do I," Marcus sighed. "But there's nothing we can do about that."

"You could live here."

"I need the money I get from the tavern, and that money's good at the moment. Even if that means only seeing you once a week." Marcus rolled onto his belly, propping himself up on his elbows.

"You could work here, at the homestead. Someone will surely have jobs that need doing."

"They are giving me more than they really should be at tavern and I need that money."

"You have said this before," Connor scowled. "Why do you need the money so much?"

Marcus pushed himself up and out of the bed. As he dressed, Connor watched him, momentarily distracted from his worries. Then Marcus returned to the bed and sat on it, and leaned down to kiss Connor.

"Why will you not tell me?" Connor was beginning to know Marcus' tricks. When Marcus tried to kiss him again, Connor turned his head so he could not.

"Ratonhnhaké:ton," Marcus murmured.

"You are keeping something from me."

"Only because it's not important."

Connor shifted onto his side and closed his eyes, choosing to ignore him. He felt Marcus kiss his shoulder again.

"Don't be like that," Marcus reminded him quietly. "We won't see each other for a whole week." When Connor neither replied nor moved a muscle, Marcus exhaled noisily. "Alright. I'll see you next Tuesday." After pressing another kiss to the side of Connor's head, Marcus got off the bed, pulled his shoes on and left the room. Connor relaxed only when he did, unable to stop wondering what Marcus would keep hidden from him.

* * *

Of course, Connor did not see Marcus again until the following Tuesday. Connor was in the stables, brushing down his gelding after having taken it out to the other side of the homestead early that morning. He had heard of a bear prowling uncomfortably close to Warren and Prudence's farm. Once having tracked down the bear, he had taken it down with moderate ease, he went immediately back to the manor. He heard Marcus and the mare before they had yet to move into the area of the stables. Listening instead of looking, Connor could hear the hooves move into the stall beside the gelding's. Not long after, out of the corner of his eye, Connor saw Marcus come into view. He refrained from smiling as Marcus tried to creep as quietly as he could, unaware that Connor's senses were sharper than that. When Marcus was behind Connor, his arms snapped around Connor's waist and hugged him tightly.

"Didn't even flinch," Marcus mumbled. "You saw me."

"It was a good thing I did. You do not know what I would have done if someone dragged me suddenly like that."

"Ah. You're not grumpy with me anymore?"

Connor turned around in Marcus' arms, keeping his lips flat and expression neutral. Marcus jutted his bottom lip out in a fake pout. "Don't give me that look. We get about a day together a week."

"Was 'grumpy' the correct word to use?" Connor asked him, still serious.

"It's more correct than you'll willingly hear me say."

Connor looked up, finally unable to keep his smile suppressed. Marcus, pleased with himself, pulled Connor back into an embrace. Arms around Marcus' shoulders, Connor returned it. After a moment, he could no longer restrain himself from saying anything. "I do not appreciate that you hide something from me."

"Don't concern yourself over it," Marcus pulled back and placed his hands gently on where Connor's shoulders joined to his neck. "Honestly, it's unimportant."

"Then why do you not tell me?"

Marcus seemed to make a swift decision. "You can't say you tell me everything. Most of your past I have no idea about."

"That may change your view of me."

Connor knew he had said the wrong thing when Marcus gave one huge nod. "Exactly!"

Letting out a deep sigh, Connor shook his head. "I cannot win with you."

"No," Marcus gave him a quick kiss. "You can't."

They lingered for a while longer around the stables as Connor finished tending to the horses. Marcus said he intended to aid him but instead sat on the ground in the sun, enjoying the warmth. "You should join me," Marcus suggested. "It will be too cold to do this soon."

Connor had a better idea than sitting in the dust. He left Marcus sitting there and went to the second story of the manor where he grabbed the old blanket draped over the end of his bed. Returning to Marcus, he smiled at the frown creasing his lover's brow. "What's that for?"

"You wanted me to join you," Extending his hand, Connor pulled Marcus to his feet. "Behind the stables are more private."

Marcus grinned at him, catching on, and began to walk that way. Connor chuckled as he saw Marcus had been sitting in dirt and proceeded to rub it from his ass, getting a grin shot back at him by Marcus. "Did you plan that?" Connor asked, his hand giving Marcus a squeeze before letting go.

"Perhaps. I'm quite devious when I want to be."

Connor rolled his eyes and hurried Marcus around to the back of the stables. Once there, Connor laid down the blanket on the grass and the two were soon enjoying the sun. Connor was on his stomach, propping himself up on his elbow to look over Marcus' face. Gently, with his finger underneath Marcus' chin, Connor tilted his head to face him. His thumb glided over Marcus' bottom lip as he smiled, then Connor leaned to kiss him. When they parted, Marcus' smile only lingered for a moment. "Do you think anyone will find us like this?" He asked the question as barely more than a mumble.

"If they do, what does it matter?"

Marcus closed his eyes. "You have no idea, Ratonhnhaké:ton. This sort of thing is half the reason I left England."

"No one can see us, and it is unlikely anyone will wander through here," Connor kiss him again. "Do not worry."

"Can you be a little more convincing than that?"

Connor grinned and as he kissed him again, more heatedly, moved to be on top of him. "I will show you how certain I am no one will interrupt us."

If anyone was in the near vicinity, they would have come to investigate. Since they were not interrupted once it was safe to say their secluded spot was exactly that. Afterward, sweaty and very naked, Connor lay back down beside Marcus with a grunt. "If I hadn't left England, at least," Marcus muttered breathlessly. "I would never have experienced _that_." Connor couldn't not laugh.

From where they lay, they could see the Aquila's masts and bunched sails. And when Marcus rolled onto his belly and lay his head on Connor's chest, Connor began telling Marcus about his adventures on the ship. Immediately Marcus was captivated. He listened intently as Connor spoke, not minding that Connor idly braided a lock of Marcus' hair as he did so. Eventually, when Connor began to run out of the most exciting of his tales, Marcus propped himself up and met Connor's eyes. "How have you done all of this?"

"You may not want to know."

Marcus held Connor's hand between the two of his and kissed his fingertips. "I want to know everything I possibly can about you."

"Do not be…" Connor closed his eyes, knowing that this time would come eventually. "Just do not be angry." Marcus had known that Achilles was Connor's mentor, but know he explained exactly what the old man taught him over the years. He explained what the Assassins were and what they stood for. He told Marcus of how he had killed people, too many people in some cases. Marcus was sitting up now, staring at his hands. When they slipped into silence, Connor felt deep and familiar remorse low in his stomach. He then pushed himself upright, bringing himself very close to Marcus. "Tell me what you are thinking," Connor then softened his voice. "Please, Marcus."

"I don't know what to think," Marcus answered, lifting his gaze again. "I really don't."

"I would never harm you."

"That didn't ever cross my mind. You mentioned that this… Templar, Haytham, was your father?"

Connor nodded. "He was British, it was my mother who was native." A few weeks ago they had already had the conversation about what happened to Kaniehtí:io, but only a few minutes ago did he reveal what happened with Charles Lee. It was bizarre to explain to someone everything that had happened; it was like Connor admitted it to himself just as much as he did Marcus.

"What happened to him?"

This was another difficult explanation. As he spoke he felt the ghosts of Haytham's calloused hands close around his throat once more and the blinding red rage which made him plunge his blade into his father's throat. Regret was not the right word for that moment, for he knew better than anyone that it had to be done, yet it still somehow felt like a loss.

Instead of speaking after Connor fell quiet, Marcus pulled Connor's head down to his chest and held him tightly. Connor could feel Marcus' chin rest on top of his head and he let himself relax, melting into Marcus' embrace.

"If I am honest," Connor mumbled against him. "I do not know how to feel. It is hard to be happy, after everything."

Marcus pressed a kiss against Connor's hair. "'And none can be called happy until the day when he carries his happiness down to the grave in peace.'"

"What is that from?"

"Oedipus the King. My father found a translation of it as soon as he could. The Ancient Greeks had the right idea; it's hard, while living, to be happy because so many things go wrong."

"That is a very sad outlook," Connor looked up, their faces only inches apart.

"It is, but that's life."

"It does not have to be."

* * *

Autumn became a bitterly cold winter. At the height of the snowfall, Marcus struggled to be able get to the manor. Somehow he still managed and Connor adored how determined he was. Marcus laughed it off but Connor saw just how much he wanted to get his once a week with him.

During these winter months they had a particularly close call with Dr. Lyle White nearly walking in on them. They were not having sex, not quite, but they were relaxed together in the sitting room. Under the blanket their hands wandered and mouths lingered over both skin and the other's lips. Marcus was kissing Connor's throat then his collar bone, then opened his shirt and kissed the skin on his chest. Soon Marcus would go down to his stomach and lower. Connor, who would usually have known someone was inside the manor immediately, was so distracted by Marcus and the heat low in his torso he did not hear. It was not until, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Doctor appear in the doorway. As soon as he did, Connor threw the remainder of the blanket over Marcus and sat up straight, staring at Lyle with as much rebuking as he could. At the angle Marcus was and how much he was hidden by the back of the divan, it was likely Lyle had been unable to see his face.

"I was dropping off the salve I borrowed," Lyle tried not to smile. "I didn't realize you had company of the female sort, apologies. I will leave the salve in the kitchens. You, Connor, you have a good evening." He winked before disappearing.

Marcus began laughing, quietly at first, and Connor kneed him softly to hush. Connor listened intently, waiting until he was certain that Lyle was gone and that the manor's front door had been closed. Connor leaned back, breathing out a sigh of relief and Marcus laughed louder now, pulling the blanket off his head. His hair was tousled and his grin wide and stunning. "Do I truly look like a woman?"

"I do not think he really saw you," Connor breathed out, "Just what you were doing."

Pushing himself up to sit with Connor fully again, Marcus glanced over his shoulder to the doorway.

"Lyle is gone," Connor reassured him. "What do you think he would have said?"

"If he knew I wasn't female? I'm not sure, I don't know him personally. If he and the others love and respect you as much as they say, who knows, they may accept it. From my experiences, though…"

Connor's hand went to Marcus' thigh and gave it a squeeze. Not long after that, they extinguished the candles downstairs and made their way up to Connor's chamber –which, truth be told, they were more likely to call 'their' bedchamber. Undressing in the freezing winter night's air, Marcus gladly crawled underneath the covers. Connor stripped more slowly, wondering aloud, "What if someone walked in now?"

"While you are getting into bed? It's a chilly night, you could say that you're keeping me warm," Marcus patted the space beside him. "Or at least you're about to keep me warm when you actually join me."

"That is lying."

"Not exactly. I am cold and you're still standing there, not in the bed with me."

Connor's jaw clenched and he stood there still, naked and staring at nothing.

"Ratonhnhaké:ton, nobody will come into this room, let alone at night." At another urging of Marcus', Connor finally slipped into bed. The sheets were cold but Marcus was invitingly warm.

"You leave in the morning," Connor pointed out.

"I've lost count of how many times you've said that to me."

"Because it is always truth."

Marcus kissed him tenderly. "Someday, perhaps it won't be the truth."

* * *

Winter passed and it was well into spring when, one Tuesday, Marcus simply did not turn up. The first time this happened, Connor occupied himself with menial tasks and convinced himself that Marcus was being held up somewhere on the road. When it became apparent that he was not merely late, Connor told himself that he would just have to wait until the next Tuesday and ask what happened. But that next Tuesday, too, Marcus never arrived.

On the third Tuesday, Connor mounted his palomino and rode out in the direction of where Marcus would always come and go from. He had talked enough to him to know where the tavern was he was employed at. If Marcus no longer wanted to be his lover, then Connor would make him say it to his face instead of having Marcus avoid him. If Marcus was simply unable to go or was on route that Tuesday, Connor would quickly find out.

It was a small settlement, with a dozen houses and a few more neighboring farms. Amongst these houses and beside the most trodden of the roads, was the Goat's Greed, the tavern Marcus had only ever mentioned with a cringe. It was a rough place but Connor had seen, and been in, worse. Tethering his gelding to a post, Connor strode inside the tavern. It was early afternoon but a few men, mostly loners, loomed over their mugs of ale. Connor moved passed them to the bar, where a disgruntled, potbellied middle-aged man glowered at him. "What'd you want?" He sneered.

"An Englishman by the name of Marcus Holmes works here."

"Well if you know where the little sod is, I'd like to know to!"

Connor remained calm. "You do not know where he is?"

"Left a few Tuesdays back, like always, but never returned. Bet he's run off, probably stole somethin'."

"Are his possessions still here?"

The man eyed him suspiciously. "What's it to you?"

Connor knew everybody in the tavern was keeping half an eye on them. He also knew that there were four different exits for him to take if this encounter turned nastier than it was about to. Without warning Connor drabbed the front of the man's stained vest and pulled him in close, activating his hidden blade and held it to his chest where the man could still see it.

"Alright! Alright! I've a key," the man was sweating instantly and fumbled with his jangling pocket. "Upstairs, last one on the right. Has a wonky doorknob."

Connor took the key and moved away. He followed the instructions and found the door, using the old key to unlock it. It creaked as he pushed it open and stepped inside. Although it smelt of ale and sweat, it also smelt of Marcus. It was not much to look at; a small bed in the corner, a dirty fireplace and a chest of clothes with the lid propped up. All looked normal in the room. It was only when Connor turned around that he saw something on the back of the door. A note, scrawled with watery ink, was stuck to the wood with a knife. Connor yanked the note from the door and read it over many times, hot rage boiling up in his stomach. He left Marcus' chamber, slamming the door behind himself and crunching the paper in his fist. Connor would not rest until he got Marcus back; and killed whoever had written that wretched note.

* * *

 **Does anyone have a guess as to what's happening?**

 **Also, Oedipus the King by Sophocles was first translated in 1759, so they would have, potentially, had access to it (I am pushing history a little here but it's fan fiction). So the translation would be different to the copy I have studied but that also doesn't really matter because the general idea is the same, and so is the theme talked about here.**


	4. Gunfire

The windows were covered with thick planks of wood, nailed so tightly down that hardly any light from outside could stream through. It could have once been a decent room, but now it was rotting and had a single bed pallet, pushed against the far wall, with old lice infested blankets. Marcus, weary and hungry and riddled with insect bites, paced the small room. He had not cared to keep track of time when he was first imprisoned and was now without a way of knowing how long he had been kept here; but it certainly felt like an eternity.

He heard footsteps leading up what he could only presume was a staircase as he had every other day. He was not sure if it was the same time each day, but once a day someone would bring him food and water. It was either one of three men; the one missing an eye, the one who walked with the gait of a sailor or the big bellied fellow. The door clanked unlocked and the sailor walked through, holding out a knife cautiously. Marcus had eyes only for the tray of food the sailor placed down. Then the man left, locking the door behind him as Marcus threw himself onto the ground and devoured the food. The water he would save most of, but the bowl of stew and the small chunk of bread was quickly gone.

The man who held Marcus here was Noah Whitehall, and Englishman who Marcus owe far too much money. Every time Whitehall questioned Marcus about the money, he was dissatisfied with the truth. "Before you took me," Marcus usually said with a broken voice. "I was working to get the money to pay you back."

"You fled England, you probably thought you could escape."

"I was going to pay you back! Just give me time, please."

And then Noah would leave. It happened again that day, but instead of replying that he would pay him back, Marcus yelled in desperation, "Why are you keeping me here? Why don't you just kill me and be done with it?"

Noah, always calm and always with his hands clasped behind his back, watched Marcus with disgust. "Someone may pay your ransom; and if not, then you will die, but only when I'm sure I'll wring no money from you."

"Nobody will pay my ransom," Marcus tried to convince him. He lied, of course. Connor, if he found out where Marcus was being kept, may pay. Or he may never find out and simply believes Marcus no longer cares for him. That thought made his stomach twist but he continued pleading to Noah. "My family is all in England and my employer doesn't care. Please, if you release me, I will get you your money."

Shaking his head, Noah left the miserable chambers without another word. Marcus began to sob, then wail. He was shameless in doing so and wanted nothing more than to be gone from this horrible, horrible place.

The next day, they did not feed him. His stomach cramped and groaned in protest but that never helped. They kept food from him mostly likely because of him speaking up to Noah. The only thing Marcus could do to ignore the hunger pains was to sleep.

* * *

The note had told Connor the address in which to drop the ransom off to –save for that it was simply a skeleton of the former building. Sitting around a fireplace was two men, chatting grouchily and drinking from bottles of ale. Unfortunately for them, they were not visible from the street and this area of Boston was not a busy one, especially during the night.

Connor approached them calmly, his tomahawk in his hand. The first man noticed him, questioned Connor, then yelped when the tomahawk's blade slid across the second man's throat. Before the first man could run Connor gripped his shoulder and held the bloody blade against the man's throat. "You know of a man named Marcus Holmes? English, tall, black haired, green-eyed…"

The man was nodding furiously.

"Where is he being kept?"

The man described the old inn's location. It was only a few blocks from where they were currently.

Connor felt slightly foolish when he asked, "Why is he being ransomed?" He knew about the amount of money Marcus owed this Noah Whitehall; what he didn't know was why such a sum was needed. £3,000 was no small amount of money.

"Gambling debts. Mr. Whitehall came all the way out here to track Holmes down. He quite likes it here though, lots of people to get lots of money off."

Sheathing the tomahawk, Connor pushed him away. "Get out." The man certainly didn't need to be told twice. The last thing Connor had wanted to do was to pay, even if he had the money. He would rather make sure Marcus was safe first and far away from here.

Following the man's instructions, Connor found a building that matched the provided description. Any thoughts about this building being the one were confirmed as it was the only on the street not monitored by officials which had a guard standing before the door. Connor walked right passed the bored looking man, scanning the building out of the corner of his eyes.

When he got to the adjacent street, a place where he was nearby but out of the guarding man's view, he began to scale the building. Getting onto the roof was a small task for him and he was soon on the rooftop. Years of honing his skill meant that he could walk undetected by even the nearby guard. The inn was large and a few stories taller than the small neighboring houses. Connor scaled it, already seeing that most of the windows had wooden planks nailed to them. But he aimed for one of the few windows which were not shut off and, positioning himself well, he peered through. It seemed like a makeshift guard room, a bed in every four corners of the room and a chest at the end of each bed. The window, with a little encouraging, would open. Connor tried putting as much weight as he could on his foothold and less on the one hand which kept him clinging to the building. The other hand and his hidden blade was working to coax the window up. After a little frustration, Connor slid the window up and pulled himself into the building.

A man walked in right as Connor landed. The two stared at each other for a moment, but Connor had his wits about him and lunged. The man turned to run but Connor dragged the back of his collar, almost pulling him back off his feet. Closing the door behind them, Connor shoved the man down onto the floor and kept himself between the man and escape. "Where is Marcus Holmes?" Connor demanded, pulling his tomahawk out. He did not wish to use it, but if he had to there would be no hesitation.

"One story down from 'ere," he was just as willing as the first man to give up information. "Please, I don' wanna to die. I didn' wanna even come 'ere!"

"Which room?"

"Opposite 'ere, on the far wall. Only guarded one."

"Stay here," Connor warned him, "Or I will come back and I will kill you."

Connor left as the man was nodded and making absolutely no attempt to move. Closing the door behind himself, Connor glanced around. There was no one else in the passageway and making note of where he was going, Connor found the staircase. Right where the terrified man had said, a man guarded a door. Pretending as though he belonged, Connor walked right up to the guard. He was given strange looks and when the man turned to face him fully, he boxed both his ears at once. Stunned, the man didn't have time to react as Connor plunged his hidden blade into the man's chest, between his ribs into his heart. He lowered him down to the ground, as to not make a noise, then rummaged through his pockets until he found the keys to the room. Unlocking the door, he kept his the beating of his heart normal and steadied his breathing.

In the single, shabby bed a man sat upright. Marcus stared at Connor through the dim light from the lanterns in the passageway, incredulous. Then he shot up and flung himself at Connor just as the latter closed the door behind himself. There was no force behind Marcus' embrace and Connor had to keep him from falling as his legs gave out beneath him. Still Marcus clung to him, arms around his neck in total trust, trying not to sob. Connor coaxed him into sitting down on the bed, feeling how weak he was. Marcus knew why he did so and gave the weak complaint, "I spoke out and they haven't fed me in two days."

"We have to get you away from here," Connor told him, reassuringly rubbing Marcus' arms. He doubted he could walk far, let alone run. Marcus chewed on his dry bottom lip in consideration, gaze unfocused. Connor tried to think of a way to easily get Marcus out that didn't involve walking through the front door, but the only possible exit for someone in Marcus' condition was the front door.

"You know now, don't you?" Marcus murmured.

"Yes. You should have told me from the beginning. Gambling?"

"I'm sorry." Marcus looked down. "I didn't want you to pay the debts for me."

"If you had told me that is not what you wanted."

"I know you. You would have insisted on helping me, and it would've meant I could have been at the manor more often."

Connor knew he was right but shook his head. "We will talk about this later. Come," Connor took his hand and guided him from the chamber. "If fighting breaks out, back away. Do not get caught in it." Marcus gave no protest. He followed just behind Connor, not seeing the dead man on the floor beside the room that had been his prison. Through the passageways Connor crept silently, wishing that Marcus had his skill of silence. Despite that, the two men in what appeared to be the large kitchens were so enwrapped in their conversation they noticed nothing out of the ordinary. Motioning for Marcus to stay where he was, Connor stood up straight and walked straight at the men. These two were more alert than the one outside Marcus' room and were standing and drawing their pistols from their holsters as he approached. Connor, as his occupation demanded of him, was quicker. With his tomahawk he pushed the first man's hand down to the ground as the shot was taken. Connor's other fist smashed into the man's nose, sending him backward and distracting him while Connor went to the second man. The shot he fired missed and Connor kicked him _hard_ in stomach, making him double-over. Connor brought the tomahawk down into the man's shoulder, wrenched it out of the flesh and bone and whirled around to collide with the abdomen of the man he had stepped past.

He heard Marcus yelp and immediately ran out toward him, and as soon as he saw the assailant flung his tomahawk. Seeing it hit the new attacker's head in a spray of blood, Marcus paused in horror before bending over and heaving. Nothing came from his lips because there was nothing in his belly to bring up. Claiming back his tomahawk and sheathing it, Connor placed his hand on Marcus' back in a reassuring attempt to get him moving again. "You knew what I am," Connor reminded him of their conversation, lying on the blanket, naked in the sun. It seemed like a long time ago now.

"I do," Marcus groaned. When he straightened himself, he was pale as snow. "I never expected to see it."

Connor said no more, but encouraged his lover to keep moving. From the mental image Connor was gradually forming of the old inn, they must not be far from the entrance. His assumption was right and around the next corner was the open room of the ground floor, the doorway on the opposite wall. Connor instantly moved to cover Marcus, seeing a tall, barrel chested man standing by the doorway. A pipe hung from his lips and as he spoke it moved up and down, "You could've just paid me."

"That's Noah Whitehall," Marcus whispered to Connor. Having gathered as much, Connor eyed him. He was big but not fat; he probably possessed the strength of a bear and clearly had enough wits to know what was happening. Inwardly, Connor chided himself for letting the man in the guards' room live.

"I would have released him, had you paid up front."

"Would you have?" Connor took a small step forward, holding his hands up slightly so Whitehall could see them. "I find your type are not quick to keep promises."

"Perhaps. Marcus owes me quite a bit of money, after all," Whitehall discarded his smoking pipe onto the nearest table and pulled out an already loaded pistol. "Wouldn't it have been nice if he was made an example of? Sail across the sea and you'll still have to pay me."

Without warning, Whitehall fired. Instinctively Connor ducked and shot forward, over tables and chairs. Marcus had been behind him, safe, but now was left behind. Whitehall had another loaded pistol and pulled it out, discarding the other one. He fired, but passed Connor. Marcus let out a shrill cry. Connor let that fuel him and with red hate burning in his vision, he plunged his hidden blade into Whitehall's throat. Hot, heavy blood flowed over Connor's hand and down the inside of his arm as he held it there for a moment before pushing Whitehall's writhing body to the side.

Fear, no matter how well Connor's mastery of his body was, was nearly paralyzing. He turned back and ran toward Marcus, unable to breathe. Marcus was on the ground, clutching at his thigh with bloodied fingers. His face was set in an agonized grimace and he tried to sit upright. Connor's hand went to the wound and applied pressure while he examined it. The entrance was clean and it appeared only a flesh wound; but there was no exit hole. Where the bullet should have left the flesh, Connor could feel a round, hard lump. Trying not to alarm Marcus, Connor tore a strip of cloth from his undershirt, just as he had on the day they met, and tied it as a tightly as he could. Then Connor picked Marcus up, fearful to let him walk on his own. With difficulty, Connor opened the front door. He wondered whether that guard still stood watch, and if so why he had not entered the building when guns fired. Upon opening the door, they found no trace of the man. Some guard he was.

Marcus clung to him, more shocked than pained at being shot. That would soon change. Connor knew he had to get him to Dr. White as soon as possible.

When he saw a wagon about to pass them on the street, he tried to capture the driver's attention. The driver, already staring at them in blatant horror, stopped the horses. The wagon had a canopy and would be perfect for the time being. Connor quickly bundled Marcus in the back with the barrels of wine and then returned to the driver, whom he paid handsomely. Connor could have driven himself, but his pressing need to stay with Marcus forbade it. Leaping into the back of the wagon just as it began moving again, Connor found Marcus still ghostly pale and shivering. Holding his lover close, Connor found he was powerless and could only count the long seconds as they traveled to safety.

* * *

 **I did a little research and apparently in this time period, a family could live off 100 to 300 pounds a year. So you can imagine just how much £3,000 is, even then...**


	5. Little Wooden Eagle

By sheer determination and strength of will, Connor got Marcus back to the homestead. It occurred to him along the way that he trusted no one but Dr. White with Marcus' health and he wanted no one else to treat him. Perhaps if the bullet had entered in a more vital place, like anywhere in his abdomen, Connor would not have been so choosy. But with the time allowance of where the wound was, he had the peace of mind knowing that Lyle would be able to treat Marcus.

Lyle, however, was horrified that Connor had not stopped sooner. Connor carried Marcus in his arms and had been since the borders of the Davenport homestead. All other homestead residents and passersby were taken aback by the two covered in blood and clinging to each other like that. Connor noted with slight bitterness that none had come to his aid and he took Marcus all of the way up to the stable tent Lyle used for his patients. To Connor's luck, both Lyle and Diana were inside. Lyle immediately took control of the situation after exclaiming his shock and ordered Marcus to be lowered onto the bed pallet. Connor complied, though Marcus was far less willing to let go. Half delirious with pain, Marcus tried to writhe and move away from Lyle as the doctor began cutting away the fabric around the gunshot. Connor moved back and allowed Diana to attempt to calm Marcus, and when that failed, she held down his leg. There was scarcely anything in the way of pain medication and what could be taken was not suitable for the situation. Lyle would have to do what he could while Marcus struggled feebly.

All Connor could do was linger in the background, watching Lyle stitch up the wound's entry hole then turn Marcus over to get at where the bullet was stull lodged. It may have been better if Marcus had simply passed out, his body starving and dehydrated and now in unbearable agony, but somehow he clung to consciousness. Connor paced back and forth like he was trapped behind metal bars, watching his lover and feeling utterly useless.

Lyle was feeling around the wound, where the exit hole should have been, and he cut through the fabric of Marcus' trousers. In that moment Marcus seemed to have a sense of what was going to happen next and on his belly, he tried to squirm away, holding the edge of the bed to pull himself forward. Before Lyle could signal Connor over, Connor was already there. He sat down on the side of the bed, positioning himself so one leg was beside Marcus' head. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lyle give Diana a gesture which told her not to move. Gently, ignoring the other two people, Connor removed Marcus' hands from the side of the bed by uncurling his fingers and prying them free. Miserable and seeking comfort, Marcus moved to place his head on Connor's knee, his hand gripping Connor's lower leg. Hand on Marcus' head to keep him still and not looking up, Connor nodded to Lyle. Connor studied Lyle's every movement as the doctor took a surgically sharp knife and made an incision into Marcus' skin, where the bullet bulged. Blood immediately welled up and Marcus tensed, mouth opening in wordless pain. He had known it was coming and the anticipation was always worse than the actual pain, but that did not lessen his discomfort. Lyle cut deeper and Diana stopped Marcus from struggling as the doctor's fingers reached into the wound to remove the bullet. Marcus keened through gritted teeth, trying to steel himself against the pain. He breathed out relief as Lyle pulled the bullet out, then quickly stitched the incision closed. Needing Marcus to rest, Lyle wrapped a bandage around the wound and the torn trousers, acknowledging that once he had rested, the bandage could be changed later.

After washing his bloody hands, Lyle indicated that he wanted to speak with Connor outside. Helping Marcus onto his back, Connor left him in the capable hands of Diana. She would get him to drink, then sleep, and when he woke, she would make sure he ate. Connor felt like a child about to be scorned as he followed Lyle out. Hands that were still stained slightly red were put on his hips as Lyle faced Connor, clearly conflicted about what to say.

"His name is Marcus Holmes," Connor filled the tense silence. "He is twenty six years old and from England. Is there anything else you must know about your patient?"

Lyle stared at him for a moment, shocked, then swore under his breath and shook his head. "That night at the manor," when Connor gave him a warning look, Lyle just held his hand out for him to wait. "I saw dark hair but did not see a face. I should not have assumed," he then laughed, embarrassed, "To think, we asked you about your love life and asked why you weren't married."

Was he hearing Lyle correctly? "I did not know," Connor answered honestly, equally as embarrassed. "I had not… been, with anyone, before him." Connor hesitated for the smallest second then asked in a lowered voice. "Are you not angry?"

"Angry? Connor. You have been a friend to me for years, and there's not a single person in this place who can say you haven't helped them," Lyle leaned forward a bit. "I wouldn't go shouting it from the roof tops, however."

"I was not planning on it." Connor smiled, despite his weariness and his confusion. Marcus had been so adamant that they should keep it a secret; he understood why, and he understood that it was frowned upon to the extent of death, but these were his friends at the homestead and they trusted him.

"Tell me one last thing. How did he get shot?"

Connor grimaced, thinking of his reply.

"Do I want to know?" Lyle asked while Connor paused.

"It is a difficult situation. Made worse because he kept me in the dark." He had yet to confront Marcus about it, but would do so as soon as Marcus' health allowed. Connor was more than glad he was alive, but that did not do much to diminish his annoyance at being lied to initially. Marcus had brushed his debts of as unimportant and they were anything but that considering how dangerous Noah Whitehall proved to be.

Lyle touched his hand to Connor's shoulder. "You should get some rest. I will give Marcus the best care I can."

Connor only just realized he had been awake for two days now. He had not rested since finding the note in Marcus' chambers in the Goat's Greed tavern. Connor briefly went back to Marcus' side, finding him in a fitful sleep already. Trusting Lyle and Diana, Connor left Marcus where he was and dragged himself to the manor.

Inside the great house, all fires had gone out and the passageways were cold and empty. Connor tried not to notice this as he pulled himself up the staircase and collapsed onto his bed.

* * *

It took great resolve on Connor's part to pull himself out his bed the following morning. He had been in there since early yesterday morning, too exhausted to move even for the promise of a decent meal. Once he did pull his drowsy body from the covers, he stumbled downstairs to eat before he left.

He had decided, while he was refusing to move, that he must go to the Goat's Greed and collect Marcus' possessions. They would do little good there, where his employer would most likely get rid of them or sell what he could. There was no reason for Marcus to work there anymore; Connor doubted he could even on the off chance he wished to. He had been gone too long with an unexplained absence. Marcus no longer needed the money at any rate –there was nobody to collect it.

Connor did not visit Marcus before leaving the homestead. Instead he kept to the road and rode by, going straight to the frontier and the Goat's Greed. After his threats a few days previous, the tavern manager had no qualms about allowing Connor to take few Marcus' items from the room. The manager jokingly implied that it was a good thing; he needed the room for another employee, one that will not "bugger off" as he put it. Connor's only reply to that was a glare and the man understood to keep his thoughts to himself after that. Leaving as quickly as he could, Connor folded the items of clothing, such as breeches, shirts, vests, gloves, underclothes and heavier winter gear, and placed them into saddle bags. Wasting no time, Connor returned to the homestead and by this time, it was late afternoon but the sun was still beating down on them. It only made Connor more tired, draining what reserves the past few days had already depleted.

On the way back to the manor was when Connor guided his horse up to where Marcus was being kept. Vaulting from the horses back, Connor gave him a rub on the neck then left the calm beast there as he entered the tent. Diana nearly walked into him, both of them veering to the side to escape a collision. Connor caught the tray she nearly dropped, seeing the empty stew bowl and the crumbs of where bread had been. Stepping aside and allowing her to pass, Connor then went to Marcus' bed. Marcus was sitting up, leaning against feather pillows and trying to smile at Connor. His skin was an unhealthy grey, bags had already formed underneath his eyes and he had a blanket pulled around his shoulders despite the heat, but he did not seem to have a fever and he was evidently well enough to eat.

"I'm glad you came," Marcus told him as Connor sat on the edge of the bed, as he had the day before when Lyle was cutting open his flesh. "Dr. White told me you had ridden by earlier."

"I was retrieving your clothes from the tavern. You no longer have a job or a home there."

Marcus nodded and looked down. "It was to be expected, I've been gone a while," he winced. "How long, exactly?"

"Just over three weeks."

Marcus stopped breathing for a moment. "Three weeks…" He murmured. After that, a silence fell and tension filled the air. Marcus shifted uncomfortably, unable to meet Connor's unwavering gaze. It didn't matter if Marcus was going to attempt to avoid the subject; Connor was prepared to push and have his thoughts and feelings known.

"You should have told me about the debts," Connor insisted. "It does not matter what I would or could have done, you should have told me."

"I'm sorry," he wriggled again, grimacing while putting more pressure on his injured leg, then he tried to justify himself. "I was certain that I could pay it back on my own. I already had one third of it, I just needed to keep working to get the rest. How could I have known that Noah had followed me –and probably others like me– over here?"

"One third?" Connor scowled. "You could _not_ have made £1,000 in a year."

Somehow, even with the sickly colour already in his skin, he paled further. "Not honestly…"

Connor felt the sinking feeling in his chest. "Marcus."

"I'm sorry, but I needed to pay Noah back!"

"This is why you should have told me. I could have helped; I have that sort of money, you would not have had to steal."

"I know I should I told you, but I couldn't. You wouldn't see me the same."

"You are certainly correct about that," Connor chided through gritted teeth. "I trusted you, and you did not trust me."

"I do trust you–"

"Then you should have told me!" He bit, louder than he intended. In anger he shot to his feet, jaw set hard. Marcus shrunk down into his blanket, watching Connor with wounded eyes. Connor refused to feel guilty. Marcus had been stealing from men who were most likely as poor as he was; Connor had seen the sorts of people who had been in the Goat's Greed. They were not wealthy. To top it all off, he had refused to tell Connor any of this. "Whitehall is dead," Connor was quieter now, though no less firm. "There is no one for you to pay back. I am sure you can find work around the homestead if that is what you want after you heal. I can pay for a room in the inn for you; you can use your stolen money to get back on your feet."

Marcus was very still, almost scared to move. "What about living in the manor? With you."

Connor gaped at him. "I cannot trust you. And after everything I told you…"

"I'm sorry–"

"Stop apologizing! It does not mean a thing!"

After that, Marcus was hesitant to speak. But he did speak, and when he did there was a hint of malice in it. "You are no saint, either."

"But what I do is for what I believe in, for what my brotherhood believes in. You made a mistake and dragged other people down with you."

Before Marcus could answer, Connor went out to get the saddlebags and brought them back inside. He placed them down beside Marcus' bed, in front of the bedside cabinet and turned to leave. Marcus grasped his wrist with cold fingers, unwilling to let go. "Ratonhnhaké:ton," Marcus pleaded softly. "Please, don't–"

Connor yanked his hand away, keenly aware of where Marcus' fingers had been digging in. Knowing that Marcus would be unable to follow, Connor turned his back and went to leave. When he was just out of the entrance, he heard scuffling. Only when Lyle and Diana, who were standing some distance away to give the two room, express their shock at something behind Connor and begin toward them did he look around. Marcus, despite the bullet wound and not allowing himself to put pressure on his leg, limped toward him. "Ratonhnhaké:ton, please, stop. Just listen to me."

Connor shook his head. Marcus was safe now, and in capable hands, and if he got himself hurt further that was his own fault. No matter how concerned Connor had been for him when he was first injured, he was still angry at the situation and at what Marcus had done. Lyle was with Marcus when Connor went all of the way up to his horse.

"Ratonhnhaké:ton, don't–" Marcus was cut off when Connor's gelding nickered in objection to Connor's insistence that he turn so sharply. Marcus tried to step forward and, regardless of Lyle's attempts to help, feel onto his knees with a jolt and a yelp. "Ratonhnhaké:ton!" Marcus called shrilly after Connor even as he was riding away, " _Ratonhnhaké_ : _ton_!"

* * *

Connor had always intended to give Marcus the little wooden carving he made. He had first begun it after they met, and had kept it hidden from Marcus since Marcus had seen the very crude shaping of it the second time he went to the manor. Since then Connor had kept it out of sight but never got around to finishing it. The day after the incident of Connor leaving his lover, he finally finished it. He thought it would be fitting, just one last gift.

He had long known how to walk soundlessly. He did just that as he entered the tent, finding Marcus alone. Lying on his side, Marcus faced the wall, the blanket tight around his shoulders and his hair swept back on the pillow. Connor did not make a noise until he placed the dark wooden eagle, small enough to fit in a man's palm, down onto the cabinet beside Marcus' bed pallet. Marcus flinched at the sound but did not look over his shoulder. He probably knew just from the sudden sound and his entire body tensed. Connor spoke very quietly, very gently. "You told me that quote from that play, and I think the Ancient Greeks were right. But even if it was fleeting, I was happy with you," Connor did not reach to touch him, and stood for a moment, wondering if Marcus would reply. As it grew increasingly unlikely, Connor left him again, slipping away as soundlessly as he had come.

* * *

 **This is the second to last chapter, so I thought it was time to bring out the angst (and I have a lot of emotions over Connor and they needed to be expressed at some point...). The last chapter may have to get done and published after Christmas, but I'll see how I go.**


	6. Second Chances

It was odd to be inside the manor again. Marcus crept through with fear that Connor would walk in at any moment to discover an intruder. He was not an intruder, not really, as he had been given the job of taking the loaf of fresh bread Prudence baked to the manor for Connor. Most of the inhabitants of the homestead had no idea of the problems between Marcus and Connor; some had become aware of the tension between them because they witnessed it firsthand. Occasionally, they crossed paths during social situations. It was Connor's home before it more or less became Marcus', it had to happen on occasion. It had been two months since Marcus had been shot and Connor had ended their involvement, and even though they had seen each other sometimes, they had not spoken for that long. Now Prudence had inadvertently put Marcus in an awkward situation.

Marcus had knocked on the manor's door, but after a time when no one answered, he opened it and ventured inside. He carried the warm loaf of bread wrapped in a clean cloth to the kitchen, placing it down in an obvious place. Hopefully Connor would see it there. He should, Marcus tried to convince himself. He was not a man to let change slip under his notice. But what if he didn't notice? Prudence had gone to that trouble for nothing. Marcus was aware that he was convincing himself into talking to Connor, and it seemed like the right thing to do in this circumstance.

First Marcus went upstairs, leaving the loaf where it was. Running his hand up the smooth and old wooden rail, Marcus remembered all of the times that he had walked these steps with either Connor leading him or him leading Connor. Marcus cautiously checked all of the other rooms before going to Connor's bedchambers. The door was closed, and Marcus gathered enough courage to knock, his knuckles rasping against the wood. It was midmorning, so Marcus doubted Connor was in there, and the lack of a reply confirmed his suspicions. As Marcus opened the chamber door, _just_ _to_ _be_ _sure_. Tentatively he stepped inside, looking at the four corners of the room. The room was empty and warmed thoroughly from the morning sun. It even smelt like Connor's musk and faintly like the leathers he wore. It was so familiar it was overwhelming, and Marcus had to stand still to gather himself. He missed this. He often missed Connor, and at that moment it was nearly unbearable. He hadn't realized how much he had grown to adore him, and when that love and affection was suddenly taken away, Marcus found himself terribly alone. All of a sudden he was walking toward Connor's bed. He had slept here so many times, thinking about all those times as he touched the sheets. Why was he being so sentimental? His time with Connor was over. He knew that, but he did not want to accept it.

He was not sure what made him turn around when he did, but Marcus was glad for that small, instinctual knowing of when you are being watched. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw Connor standing in the doorway. Connor's gaze did not waver as he watched Marcus, his expression impassive. He said nothing, making Marcus want him to fill the silence. Who ever thought that a lack of words could feel intolerably loud? Willing himself to move instead of being stuck there like a deer in headlights, Marcus straightened himself and gave Connor a wobbly smile. "Prudence wanted me to give you some bread she baked for you."

Connor did not reply, nor seem to move a muscle.

"I left it downstairs in the kitchen and wanted to tell you it was there, so you wouldn't miss it. But I couldn't find you…" Marcus laughed sheepishly. "You want me out of here. I understand," he glanced back at the bed, "It must have been a little weird, finding me in here like that." Still, Connor did not reply. Feeling his face flush with heat more and more as Connor continued to maintain his silence, Marcus moved uncomfortably. "I was just thinking of all the good times we've had here. And it was fun, while it lasted." Unable to bear this anymore, Marcus stepped to leave the bedchamber. Connor, standing in the doorway, still did not move, creating a barrier between Marcus and his only exit. Marcus expected him to move and very nearly walked into him. He had forgotten Connor was ever so slightly shorter than him –he had remembered his time with Connor as them being of the same height. Connor had the broad shoulders that Marcus lacked, making Marcus remember having his arms around those shoulders and his lips against the man's standing in front of him. Marcus swallowed hard, wondering what to do now.

"Is that all you have to say?" Connor asked, voice smaller and softer than his hard exterior suggested it would have been. "It was fun."

Marcus bit down on his tongue, not trusting himself with words. Like he was confirming something to himself, Connor nodded, looking down at his feet. He seemed almost hesitant to let Marcus go. Then he moved aside, gesturing for Marcus to go through the doorway. There was no mistaking the hollow disappointment Marcus felt in his chest. He did not want to leave Connor and was constantly aware of both of their movements as Marcus went down the staircase. Connor followed him closely, making Marcus all the more self-conscious. When they reached the bottom, and Marcus passed the kitchen, he stopped. It was Connor's turn to nearly walk into him. Connor was usually more alert than that and Marcus realized that he was making Connor nervous. When you boiled everything down, you'll find that Connor is a person like any other despite everything that has happened to him and his feelings for Marcus, which were had been initially forced aside rather than dying down on their own, were resurfacing. Marcus did not know it, but Connor was having to remind himself why he had broken them apart originally. Connor was finding it hard now, after so many nights of sleeping alone and wondering whether he had done the right thing, not to do something they would both regret. Marcus pointed out the bread on the counter, where he had left it, then moved on.

At the door of the manor, Marcus looked back at Connor. Neither of them knew what to say, so Marcus just nodded his head and gave a tight smile before leaving. All of the way to the road and then down the tracks, back to Prudence to ask her if there was anything else she needed him to do, Marcus resisted looking back. He itched to glance over his shoulder, just to be able to fill his eyes with the sight of Connor again. He resisted, not knowing that Connor was standing in the doorway, watching him right up until he could no longer.

* * *

Connor had been expecting to meet Dr. White to meet him in the homestead inn, to have a drink and catch up. They hadn't talked in a while and Connor believed it would be a good chance to relax. He had been tracking down some slavers recently and since the slaver he was currently targeting would not be back in Boston for another few days, Connor decided to take the chance to take a small break. He strode into the inn and was immediately aware of everyone in the room. Terry, Godfrey and Lance were in one corner, laughing loudly about something Connor missed. It was not them who Connor focused so keenly on. Marcus sat alone in a corner, elbows on the table, leaning over his tankard. Connor saw Marcus watch him subtly without moving his head, but looked back down when he met Connor's gaze. The person who the inn lacked as Lyle. Connor had gotten the time right and they had only organized it that morning. Connor hoped sorely that the reason Lyle was absent was not that someone had been hurt majorly.

Walking up the bar back of the inn, Connor greeted Corrine with a friendly smile. It was more forced than he intended. "What's the matter, Connor?" Corrine asked, returning the smile with a little bit of worry in her small frown.

"Have you seen Lyle?" Connor evaded her query.

"Hasn't come in. What can I get for you?"

Connor asked for an ale and she brought it to him promptly, leaning forward and telling him with a kind smile, "Cheer up, Connor. You'll like how this all's going to end," then she winked and turned away, giving him no chance to reply. Connor opened his mouth only to close it again, lost for words. Deciding not to question her, he took his ale and stared toward the door. Lyle was unlikely to make an appearance now. Connor's choice of companionship was either the laughing men in one corner or his former lover in the other. Or Connor sat by himself. More than anything, Connor wanted to go to Marcus, even just to sit and talk. Perhaps they didn't even need to talk. Sometimes simply just being with someone is enough to bring comfort.

He was striding toward Marcus before he made a firm decision. Marcus was clearly taken aback, enough to look up fully at Connor with a questioning expression, his brows drawn together and his mouth slightly open. Connor sat down opposite him, grateful for the clatter on the other side of the room creating noise to fill the otherwise silent establishment. Usually Connor enjoyed the quiet, but at that moment, it would have been horrendous.

"I did not ask you last week," Connor kept his voice pitched low, talking about when he had stumbled across Marcus in his bedchambers. The mere thought of the sight made Connor's chest tighten. "How is your wound?" It sounded like a dumb question spoken aloud yet it had been one of the reasons Connor could think of for speaking to Marcus.

Marcus started at him, as though he had forgotten how to speak. Then, "Healing, thank you. It aches sometimes, but I didn't expect anything else."

A silence fell. Connor's previous idea of sitting in companionable quiet seemed like a horrible and ill-conceived idea now and he hurried to think of something to say. "Have you found somewhere to live permanently?"

The look of disappointment that crossed over Marcus' face was plain. Connor instantly regretted it, realizing it sounded as though he wanted Marcus gone. "I'll be honest with you, Ra–" Marcus stopped himself, pursing his lips before continuing, "I haven't been looking for somewhere else to go. I didn't want to believe you wanted me to leave."

Connor bowed his head, wondering whether or not it was wise to keep speaking. "I do not."

That was when they fell into that dreaded quietness. Yet after a few moments, when they both began sipping at their drinks, it became less awkward. Though they often talked at length and long into the night, if they weren't doing something else, there had been times where the two would just simply enjoy each other's company. Once again, because of the ruckus on the other side room, it didn't feel quite as quiet as it should have. They did not say anything while they emptied their tankards, even though at one stage Marcus reached with his leg under the table and gently pressed it against Connor's leg. Connor responded inadvertently at the sudden physical touch and realized with a little bit of embarrassment he shouldn't have been encouraging Marcus. No matter how much he missed him, Connor had good, sound reasons for no longer being with him. Once his drink was emptied, Connor did not linger long, saying nothing as he stood. Marcus watched his every movement openly, shamelessly, as though waiting for an invitation. Not trusting himself to stay longer without doing something he could regret, Connor turned to leave. He was mildly irritated with himself for the longing and guilt he felt tight in his chest as he turned his back on Marcus.

He had months to think about what he had said to him, and while he was not sorry as such, he felt as though he could have handled the separation better. He was unable to bring himself to trust Marcus since Marcus had decided that Connor need not know something as important as serious financial debt. Connor needed to keep this fact in mind as he pushed away the thoughts of Marcus.

When Connor made his way back down to compacted dirt road, he spied Lyle nearby, sitting on the ground beside the road. When Connor approached, he was about to ask where he had been and who had been hurt, until he saw how widely Lyle was grinning. "You were in there for a while, Connor," Lyle teased.

"And you were not."

"No, but I knew who else was."

Connor shook his head and began walking away, following the road toward the manor.

"Connor!" He heard the scuffle of Lyle pushing himself up. "I've been talking to him quite a lot, he's not a bad man."

Holding his silence, Connor continued to walk, noting that Lyle did not try to follow him. All of the way back to the manor, Connor wondered about everything that had happened that evening. All through the night those thoughts plagued him, and the one that kept circulating in his mind was this; would it have been so bad if something happened with Marcus again? He was conflicted between his ideals and his adoration of the tall Englishman.

* * *

Waking with a jolt was the worse feeling. Connor shot upright, momentarily confused as to where he was. He must have fallen asleep in the chair in front of the now dead hearth, evidently having been too tired to walk up the staircase. He listened, wondering what had woken him. Then he became faintly aware of the characteristic thumping of hooves. One set of hooves, he decided quickly, and were only moving at a walk. Curious, though a little wearying having just woken, Connor pushed himself out of his chair, stretching as he walked to the backdoor. Going outside to the stables, he paused to take in the sight.

Marcus led Connor's palomino stallion, without a bridle, rein or lead of any sort, to the empty stall that had become the stallion's. Connor had a faint recollection of getting back to the manor late last night –or did you call those hours morning?– from completing the task of making that slaver disappear. He had unsaddled the palomino before crawling inside the manor himself, body aching and eyes bleary. There he had proceeded to fall asleep in the chair.

Seeing Connor standing there, Marcus raised his hand in greeting hesitantly. Then he led the palomino fully into the stall, gave the relaxed horse a pat on the nose and secured the stall's door closed. Marcus, hands on his hips, turned and faced Connor, who was standing with him now. "He was wandering down the road," Marcus explained, a cheeky smile on his face. "I thought I'd bring him back for you."

"Thank you," Connor returned the smile, albeit rather sheepishly. "Perhaps I did not secure the stall as I thought."

"That's alright. He didn't go too far, and he must've recognized me because he came straight up to me and had no issues with following back here. Who knows, your horse could be matchmaking."

Connor could just nod, wincing slightly at remembering Lyle's attempt last week.

"You look…" Marcus chuckled with a wide grin, reaching to gently push a piece of hair from Connor's face. Connor could feel where their skinned touched. "Like you've just woken up."

"I will not lie, I have."

"Oh? Get no sleep did we?" Marcus mock pouted. He was being far more brazen than he had been. Perhaps Lyle's scheming had helped. "Without me around?"

Connor looked at him flatly. "Marcus."

"I know, I know," he laughed, trying to pretend not to be thwarted. "Talking to you lately has made me think, that's all." He was more cautious reaching up to touch Connor's face again, but when he did, he brought their foreheads together. Leaning together, Marcus spoke low and soft. "If it counts for anything, I am so, so very sorry for every mistake I've made."

Marcus was so warm and the touch was so inviting, Connor forgot himself for a moment. He kissed Marcus, at first with sudden force and then more gently, both of them savoring it. For some reason, Connor found he did not care if someone saw them; he took Marcus in his arms and held onto him tight. Marcus let out a sigh of relief, squeezing back. He kissed Connor's shoulder, then the side of his head, only to whisper in his ear with warm breath, "Do you forgive me, Ratonhnhaké:ton?"

Connor heaved a sigh. "I cannot decide." He didn't need to see Marcus' face to feel his disillusionment. He knew that Marcus was wondering how permanent their rejoining would be. Connor kissed Marcus' neck, feeling Marcus lean his head to one side to provide more ease. "We could go inside," Connor suggested, overcome by sudden lust. It had been months.

"I'd like that," Marcus breathed out his reply. Connor was glad to be leading him up to the manor and into his bedchambers. Once the door was closed, their lips were locked again. Heat was burning low in Connor's belly as Marcus moaned, rising against him. They were sitting on the bed in time, unlacing each other's shirts and removing clothing. At one point, Connor was a little too enthusiastic about pulling Marcus' shirt over his head and Marcus got caught, falling forward onto Connor. Grabbing him, Connor leaning back until they were lying down together, both laughing carelessly. It was so easy to laugh with him. Connor rolled over, putting himself over Marcus, giving him kisses all of the way down his throat and nibbling on his collar bone. Marcus pushed himself against Connor as his hands went to the front of Marcus' trousers, unlacing them. Then Connor began trailing kisses down his belly, mumbles of delight rising from his throat. He coaxed Marcus' trousers down, and kissed his hip bone, but kept going down Marcus' thigh. Marcus became still, head raised to watch Connor. Reaching the pink, tender scar where Marcus had been shot, Connor looked up at him in questioning. Then, holding the eye contact, Connor tenderly kissed that mark as well, able to feel how completely motionless Marcus had become. Connor moved to settle himself back on top of Marcus. "Did that hurt?" Connor queried, brushing his fingertips over the mark again, barely touching the skin.

"No," Marcus shook his head, smiling. His gaze was full of nothing but trust. "It didn't."

When Connor sat up to remove Marcus' trousers the rest of the way and his own, Marcus sat up as well. It was Marcus' turn to push Connor down and move to straddle his hips. Connor's hands went to rest on Marcus' sides as he began to move, pushing down and surging back up. Marcus' head rolled back, lips parted, exposing his column of a neck. Connor had never seen anything so perfect.

* * *

It was well into the morning when they both began to stir. They had spent the entire evening together, either simply being together, talking about nothing and everything at the same time or having sex. It was unclear when they had finally settled to sleep but they knew it had been late. They had fallen back into their past contentment and familiarity, all uneasy and awkwardness melted away. It was though they had never parted.

It was only in the morning that Connor feared Marcus would leave. After being so warm and happy last night, he dreaded slipping back into the loneliness of being alone in the huge manor. Marcus made the already familiar rooms seem smaller and more homely. Connor loved the manor, and he would never leave it because of his old mentor, but since Achilles died it had been too big and too empty. Then when Marcus was around, it seemed fully like home again.

Marcus sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. Connor watched him, trying to gage what Marcus was doing without asking him. Leaning down, Marcus pulled on his trousers and then stood to pull them up fully, lacing the front loosely. Connor pushed himself up, clearly startling Marcus when he took his hand and pressed it to his mouth. "Do not leave," Connor murmured, suddenly deciding that he did not want to go back to being alone. He had enough of being alone in his life.

"I'm not," Marcus grinned at him. "Do you know where my coat is?"

"Downstairs." It was the only thing he had worn downstairs when they had eaten their evening meal, and even then Marcus had shed it in favor of wearing nothing at all.

"Stay here," Marcus kissed the top of Connor's head. "And stay naked."

Connor gave him a look of fake rebuke as Marcus laughed and left the room. Feeling chilled, Connor gathered the blankets around him and began his wait for Marcus. He was considering leaving the comfort of the bed and looking for Marcus when he took longer than Connor had the patience to wait, but he was glad he hadn't moved when Marcus came back up. Abandoning his worn coat on the ground, Marcus had something enclosed in his hand. He gave Connor a fleeting look; it was the little wooden eagle Connor carved for him. Marcus slipped it under his pillow then climbed onto the bed beside Connor.

"Do not keep anything from me again," Connor told him, slowly and clearly. He needed him to understand on what terms they were together again and that he was getting a second chance.

Marcus shook his head. "I've learnt my lesson."

"You can live here, if you would like. It is a big manor, people will not assume we are sleeping in the same bed," he frowned briefly. "Except Lyle and Diana. But they are good people."

"They haven't told anyone yet, so I doubt they will now."

Connor was comfortable against the bed's headboard and he felt the weight of Marcus leaning against him. Nothing seemed wrong at that moment and Connor couldn't help but smile. "In spite of everything, I am glad to have you back."

Marcus answered only by pressing a kiss to Connor's cheek.

Later that day, Connor disappeared from the manor only to be found standing over three graves, overlooking the cliff down onto the harbor where the Aquila was moored. The bay was glistening under the bright sun, the waves and the woodlands on the other side moving slowly with the everyday motions of life. Marcus approached carefully, slipping his arms around Connor's middle when he was with him. Staying quiet, Marcus waited for Connor to speak, knowing that something weighed on his mind.

"I am trying to think what Achilles would have thought of you," Connor leaned his head against Marcus', holding his arms to his belly. "The old man approved and disapproved of everything I did all at once. Perhaps it would have been the same with you." Marcus felt Connor's head move and look more toward the harbor. "I would like to be buried here one day. Nowhere else is so beautiful." Connor turned in Marcus' embrace, running one of his hands up to sink his fingers into Marcus' hair.

"We can both rest here. When the day comes," Marcus kissed him. "Which I hope isn't for a very long time, Ratonhnhaké:ton."

Connor nodded, resting his forehead against Marcus' cheek. He couldn't remember being so at peace in his life.

* * *

 **That's it! Thank you so much to everyone who has read this and I hope you've enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it.**


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